olive oil

Justin E. H. Smith

by Asad Raza

Fettuccine alla gricia, a common pasta dish in Rome, has four ingredients: the noodles, olive oil, bits of cured pig's cheek, and grated cheese.  Most trattorias offer it.  It's not innovative, nor is it usually presented with much elegance.  It's simply an oily plate of flat, yellow noodles with some reddish brown bits of guanciale and a shower of pecorino.  The pleasure it gives is hard to describe.  The word delicious somehow seems too refined and cerebral, tasty insufficiently hyperbolic.  Scrumptious is close, but kind of pretentious.  Anyway, a good a

Fettuccine alla gricia, a common pasta dish in Rome, has four ingredients: the noodles, olive oil, bits of cured pig's cheek, and grated cheese.  Most trattorias offer it.  It's not innovative, nor is it usually presented with much elegance.  It's simply an oily plate of flat, yellow noodles with some reddish brown bits of guanciale and a shower of pecorino.  The pleasure it gives is hard to describe.  The word delicious somehow seems too refined and cerebral, tasty insufficiently hyperbolic.  Scrumptious is close, but kind of pretentious.  Anyway, a good a

Fettuccine alla gricia, a common pasta dish in Rome, has four ingredients: the noodles, olive oil, bits of cured pig's cheek, and grated cheese.  Most trattorias offer it.  It's not innovative, nor is it usually presented with much elegance.  It's simply an oily plate of flat, yellow noodles with some reddish brown bits of guanciale and a shower of pecorino.  The pleasure it gives is hard to describe.  The word delicious somehow seems too refined and cerebral, tasty insufficiently hyperbolic.  Scrumptious is close, but kind of pretentious.  Anyway, a good a

Fettuccine alla gricia, a common pasta dish in Rome, has four ingredients: the noodles, olive oil, bits of cured pig's cheek, and grated cheese.  Most trattorias offer it.  It's not innovative, nor is it usually presented with much elegance.  It's simply an oily plate of flat, yellow noodles with some reddish brown bits of guanciale and a shower of pecorino.  The pleasure it gives is hard to describe.  The word delicious somehow seems too refined and cerebral, tasty insufficiently hyperbolic.  Scrumptious is close, but kind of pretentious.  Anyway, a good a

I grew up on a dusty, rural road by the lower Colorado River in the Mojave Desert. The occasional ride to the nearest city, Las Vegas, was a two-hour special event. The smog, sprawling stores, slums, and soaring signs of the Strip were the best of urban life that I knew. To this day, visiting the big library at the University of Nevada feels like arriving at the Library of Alexandria and being anointed with knowledge, olive oil, and cool water from a half-functioning drinking fountain.

Elatia Harris

Elatia Harris

Elatia Harris